


Say It With A Tartine

by profoundalpacakitten



Series: Drabbles and Prompts [2]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: A Rooster In The Distance, A Smidge of Cottagecore, Breakfast, Fluff, M/M, Prompt Fill, Vacation, pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28535079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profoundalpacakitten/pseuds/profoundalpacakitten
Summary: He had also fully expected to wake up with an armful of Bucky, maybe some late morning spooning turning into grinding, the perfect tactic when one wanted to get some action but also avoid morning breath.Imagine his disappointment when what woke him up, on the very first day of their “Let’s tour fucking France, Steve, what do you think?” vacation, was the bed dipping because Bucky was escaping the warm nest of covers.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Drabbles and Prompts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860346
Comments: 8
Kudos: 35





	Say It With A Tartine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jehans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehans/gifts).



In spite of the last two weeks of mission and subsequent seven hours of debriefing, coupled with an entire day spent on planes and taxis, waiting around at customs, and then sitting in cramped spaces — Steve would bite his tongue before admitting that he regretted riding coach just to give the finger to Tony I-have-a-private-airplane-of-course-why Stark — in spite of all that, they had scraped together a modicum of energy for squabbling over who would get which side of the bed and then managed to close the tired, old window shutters in their cozy little _gîte_ , a nice holiday cottage buried in the ass-end of France’s countryside.

Having personally arm-wrestled those fucking wooden slats from hell with all of his supersoldier might the previous night, Steve had fully expected to cash in all of last month’s sleep deprivation checks and not wake up with the sun. Even though supersoldiers tended to sleep less than their human counterparts, Steve did need some beauty sleep from time to time.

He had also fully expected to wake up with an armful of Bucky, maybe some late morning spooning turning into grinding, the perfect tactic when one wanted to get some action but also avoid morning breath.

Imagine his disappointment when what woke him up, on the very first day of their “Let’s tour fucking France, Steve, what do you think?” vacation, was the bed dipping because Bucky was escaping the warm nest of covers.

“Buck?” Steve said. Or more like mumbled around a yawn, but that was neither here nor there.

“Wait here,” Bucky answered, patting him on his sheet-creased cheek. “If you can.” Then he slipped out of the bedroom, as light on his feet as ever.

Was there any order harder to follow for Steve than “wait here”? Hard to tell, but most likely not.

Steve tossed and turned for a few minutes, intent on staying in bed just to show Bucky he could, but staying in place, for all that the covers were warm… Nah. Steve Rogers simply couldn’t physically “wait here” in fucking bed while Bucky was doing mysterious stuff somewhere else in the cottage.

Steve sat up and listened intently. The countryside was silent but for the mooing of the cows that the farmstead kept and a cock yodeling briefly in the distance. The cottage itself was far from silent: it creaked and groaned, like all old houses, and Steve could hear Bucky puttering around in the kitchen. He could hear the delicate clink of ceramics or plates or glasses. Wasn’t china or porcelain, that he could distinguish generally.

Steve bit his bottom lip and stood up to go rummage in their luggage. He’d already waited for seventy fucking years in a block of ice, lying around in bed was plainly out of the question.

He didn’t dress so much as he put on a shirt and the comfiest and warmest turtleneck jumper he had, some cable-knit wool affair that he liked because it kept the cold days at bay.

Steve opened the door to the corridor and padded down the long hallway towards the main rooms of the cottage. “Buck?” he called as he reached some sort of foyer that looked like a seating room or a dining room, with a hearth just waiting for them to light a fire.

“In here!” Bucky called back, and Steve followed his voice, which came from the kitchen as was expected. “I knew you wouldn’t stay in bed, you ass.” Steve smiled at the sound of Bucky’s fond exasperation, and pushed open the door to the old-timey kitchen with its crême brulée-coloured tiles and small ornamental figurines of peasants at work.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Steve smiled widely and went to embrace Bucky from behind, leaving him just enough room to continue working on breakfast.

“Hey, sunshine.” Even though Steve couldn’t see Bucky’s face, just a sliver of neck left naked between strands of hair, he knew Bucky had that soft smile he sported everytime he called Steve _sunshine_. And sometimes _dumbass_ , too.

“What’s this?”

“Baguette. The farmstead gets deliveries from the baker.” Bucky pointed at a pan full of simmering milk with his butter knife covered in butter and jam. “And milk, from the farmstead’s cows, can you believe it?” Steve hummed. “The lady said we needed to boil it cause it’s fresh and shit. Same as the butter, like they have a butter-making-natural-thing somewhere around here, and the guy sells his shit to everyone around ‘cause tourists like us eat it up. And that’s jam she made herself, so we’ll need to compliment her on it, okay?”

Steve nodded dutifully and tightened his hug briefly, before kissing Bucky’s neck. “Looks good, Bucky.”

“Hmm, yeah, I already ate like a third of that baguette while I was preparing breakfast. Making _tartines_ , that’s what the lady said. Here, want some?”

Bucky turned around with a slice of baguette all buttered and spread with jam. Steve swiftly took the box he had stashed in his pyjama pants pocket to show it to Bucky, but then he saw the ring on top of the jam and laughed. “Oh my god, you asshole,” he said, at the same time as Bucky groaned like he was in pain.

“I can’t believe we tried to pull the same surprise at the same damn time! What the fuck?” Bucky complained while smiling like a doofus.

Steve snorted and tossed the box on the counter, plucked the ring off the slice and put it on his finger as he chewed on the bit of bread. “Oh no… Bucky, look.” He exclaimed in feigned horror. Bucky had opened the box and had been busy putting Steve’s ring on and looking at it with a soft smile. He looked up.

“It’s all dirty…” Steve said in a hushed voice, all close and pressed against Bucky. He licked a spot of jam that had been left on the ring, gently pressing his tongue to his finger, then licking up to the tip of his ring finger, to follow a streak of — hmmm raspberry jam, excellent.

Bucky’s eyes darkened suddenly, and he grabbed Steve’s hand. “You always make a mess…” He kissed and licked Steve’s ring finger, on the very tip. “Lemme help you with that, hm?”

Steve didn’t wake up with an armful of Bucky, but Bucky did get an armful of Steve that he proceeded to toss onto the bed.

It went without saying that on their first day of vacation, they didn’t tour a lot of France, but they did get acquainted intimately with the cottage bedroom.

**Author's Note:**

> The yodeling cock is a rooster.
> 
> I swear we don't have any yodeling dicks wandering around in France (that I know of).


End file.
